


To Cross or To Burn

by meggles830



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-12-21 07:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21071480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meggles830/pseuds/meggles830
Summary: “The hardest thing in life is to know which bridge to cross, and which to burn.” - David RussellDemelza knows what Ross did with Elizabeth that night, and she can't quite see straight. Why can't she be the desired, adored and charming envy of all? Aren't there men out there who want her, even if none of them are her lawfully wedded husband?But what if toying with that very concept brings even more pain and hurt to the couple?I will be using some scenes/plot lines from later seasons (I will try to mark them when needed- some Caroline and Dwight stuff is most likely to suffer from this need.)CW: Non-consensual sex. Some violence, but mostly "off-screen".





	1. Stupid Sincerity

"You can be sincere and still stupid." Dostoevsky

* * *

_“What can I say? It was something I cannot explain. You must see I had no choice.”_

_“Nor I.”_

Nothing in her entire life had felt quite so satisfying as when she hit Ross with the back of her hand, watching him to fall to the sandy ground of their courtyard.

Since she was 15, she had done nothing but love him- loved him to the point that when faced with expulsion from Nampara- from him, she had temporarily lost her senses. She had known from the second she opened that trunk that it was wrong to even look- much less to put on the gown within, walking around, saying farewell to every fine object in sight. And so, one night, she gathered up every single ounce of courage she had to approach him- knowing he was an honorable man… she didn’t love him in vain… if he accepted what she offered, some kind of accommodation would be made- she would never have to return to Illogan. NOT that she had ever anticipated Ross would actually marry her- that was far too much for an urchin such as she to ever dream of. Nor did she ever imagine that a man such as Ross Poldark would fall in love with the likes of her…

No. In fact, as she stood there, hanging the laundry on such a cloudy, dismal morning- memories of their son the previous evening, whimpering in bed for his papa, well into the night, she couldn’t imagine what it was that ever made Ross think he was in love with a maid like her. Not when a woman like Eilzabeth was recently and miraculously unencumbered…

Elizabeth. Widely-regarded as the most beautiful woman in Cornwall- had she chosen to spend time in London, it was very likely she could have married true nobility, she would have made a wonderful Lady- and was absolutely everything that Demelza was not. She was graceful and elegant and knew the perfect way to curtsy and to pour tea; she played the harp and spoke French and managed a large house like Trenwith with complete ease.

And Demelza was simply… an urchin girl best suited to the kitchens and the farm. She’d always be more adept at kneading dough and scrubbing floors than mingling with the likes of the Warleggans, Teagues and Pennevennens. No, she was a miner’s daughter who had risen above her station. Perhaps it was right that Ross and Elizabeth be together. They had such history, she lived in his family’s home with his Aunt Agatha. Together they could raise Francis’s son and run the mine and be proper members of the Cornish society. Elizabeth could, perhaps, tame the man’s most reckless streak and help him do good in the county.

And she and Jeremy… they could return to Illogan, to her father’s house- for now. Perhaps ultimately Ross would sell Nampara and settle her some kind of property in Sawle and she could manage for her and their son. For eventually, he would wonder why his father slept in his study, and not with Mama.

_“I realize that I betrayed your trust-”_

_“Forfeit.”_

_“And that your pride is wounded.”_

_“Pride? My pride? To think I did always look up to you- respect you… revere you as my master long before you were my husband.”_

_“I see that, but-”_  
  
_“For it did seem to me, unschooled as I was, that you were not like other men. You had a kind of nobility- not of birth, but of character. And I was so proud to think that such a man had married me. So now, to discover that you are so much less than other men, are fallen so low because so far. ‘Tis not my pride that is wounded, Ross. ‘Tis my pride in you.”_

To the day he died, Ross would never forget the look in Demelza’s eyes- the cold steel of her resolve, the distance with which she delivered those words to him. He had been playing in his mind, over and over again, the events of that night with Elizabeth- not one moment of happiness or ecstasy had filled him that evening. There hadn’t been a true moment of satisfaction out of the event. He had simply taken her, both of them filled with an animal lust, an instinct that couldn’t be ignored- it was supposed to be the fulfillment of the last 15 years they had known each other, loved each other, wanted each other…

And it had been empty. He had returned home the next day knowing that it had been a terrible mistake, ready to put everything between he and Elizabeth behind him. His life with Demelza, with Jeremy… he had been foolish, he knew that. He knew that it would take time for his wife to forgive him, of course- this would wound her greatly. But she had to know, had to understand that it had not been entirely in his control, and that while it had been a poor choice- a regrettable one, she had to know he never intended to hurt her.

He had never expected this kind of coldness. A house that once brimmed with laughter and music and the sounds of her and his son was now strained. She was aloof, refusing to speak more than a few words at him, and most of them harsh and biting. He slept in his study, on a cot and she rarely left him alone with their son- his own flesh and blood and she hovered over them as though he could not be trusted with the child’s well-being for any length.

And so he had tried again.

“We cannot continue like this. If you could at least see it from my perspective…”

“Soon you’ll be asking me to see it from Elizabeth’s.” What did she think of him? Truly? MUST she be so petty? This truly was beneath her- he was not a monster, no matter how she was behaving at the moment.

“She can’t wait to have you installed in her house, or in her bed.” How could she speak of these things? He came home to her- he had returned to her- and with their son, right there!

“Indeed, I do suspicion that’s exactly what her letter say.”

“What letter?”

“It came, about an hour since. She’s doubtless wondering what’s keeping you.” He would have been heartless, everything she currently thought of him, if he had not noticed the way her voice wavered, the great effort it was taking for her to keep from crying in front of him and Jeremy. He wanted to go to her, he wanted to hold her to him and explain that it didn’t matter, that he loved her…

“Truly, we do wonder ourselves, don’t we Jeremy?” It was a knife to the heart- far more painful than when she had hit him in the yard. And perhaps he should have tried to speak to her, to address the growing chasm… but what on earth could Elizabeth possibly want to say to him right now?

“May I see it?”

“It’s in the library. On your pillow.”

And that was that. There was no talking to her, no trying to reason with her or help her to understand. She would have nothing to do with him now, and perhaps he should let her have her space. He left her to her anger, to her wounds… Perhaps he deserved her wrath at the moment and should allow her time to forgive and to understand.

And yet, he had not learned his lesson- he continued to foray into battle against her anger and her vitriol and her loathing contempt of him. 

  
“Demelza, I would never deliberately hurt you. You of all people must know that.”

“Must I, Ross? So I am to assume that you inflict pain by accident, without a second thought?” How was that any better? How did that help this pain, this ache in her chest that made breathing such a chore? How did that help her to sleep at night, when all she could do was weep for the love that she once thought had?

He spoke of not thinking in the moment- to what purpose was he speaking, other than to try and convince her that it was somehow not his fault- a greater power had possessed him?

“Perhaps I might have hoped for some understanding, knowing you as I do.”

If one were to speak have being possessed, Demelza may have been so in that moment, for all she could see was red rage as she stood and yelled, offering to throw herself off Hendrawna cliff. White hot fury coursed through her blood,

“I don’t blame you for your anger, but how does it serve us now?”

“Serve us? How did you serve us? How does this serve us?” She could no longer bear the sight of him as she threw everything off the table and stormed out, afraid if she stayed she would murder the man as he sat there. 

* * *

  
_“You would not dare!”_

_“I would, Elizabeth, and so would you.”_ And she had. She hadn’t for a moment resisted, not once his mouth crashed against hers and his arms circled about her- no, she had welcomed him, her body warm and soft and perfect.

But it hadn’t been perfect. It was lovely, of course there could be no question as to her beauty, and her skin was wondrously smooth, without scars or calluses. She was perfectly round and soft in the places he had always imagined. Christ, the nights he had spent dreaming of touching her, of feeling her move under him, crying out in pleasure as he took her… as she gave herself to him, wanting him as much as he wanted her, spurring him on to new heights of ecstasy.

And yet, the entire experience had been… lacking. There was passion and there was need, but there was no love. He had taken her, and she had allowed it, and he had felt momentarily sated- knowing he had finally brought to fruition so many years of longing and desire… and yet, as the moment of madness began to fade and the reality of what had just occurred began to dawn on him, he felt only emptiness.

And now, as he lay on the cot in his library, fully clothed, he couldn’t help but relive that night as it truly was- lonely. How could he have ever betrayed someone such as Demelza- the very picture of patience and generosity and love? The warmest, loveliest woman he had ever known- the woman who had redeemed him so long ago… what could he have possibly been thinking to treat her as he had?

And how could he make her forgive him?

He was a sorry sot- unable to buy her fine gowns or jewelry… to take her to London or even to the Continent. Hell, he rarely took her out into society for dancing and conversation- she was so content to take his lead and stay at home and make do with what they had… He had only ever asked of her, expected of her, and what kind of repayment was this?


	2. Hendrawnna Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That beach scene. It started this whole thing. Super short chapter, but it was done, so why not?

“Demelza!” What the devil was she doing walking about, shoes in hand, in the tide of Hendrawnna Beach? In her evening gown? Her best gown- the one he had given her 2 years ago to wear to the celebration of the New Year? It was a bit out of fashion, he supposed, but of the highest quality material and had always looked so well on her, and now it was dragging in the sand and surf as though it were one of the dresses she wore back when she was maid of his!

“Ross. How kind of you to come and meet me. Did you have a pleasant time at Trenwith?” This? Again?

“I told you, I went to Truro to meet with Richard Tonkin.”

“Whatever you say Ross. Do what you will.” This stubborn, impossible girl! How many times could he say it? What did he have to do- flagellate himself before her? Forswear all other company than hers for the rest of his life- friendly or otherwise? Drown himself in the bay? How could he prove to her what he knew? He no longer loved Elizabeth- she had been an indiscretion, a weakness for an ideal- pure nostalgia mixed with anger towards his sworn enemy, George… SHE was his wife and he loved her fiercely, adamantly… what need he do to convince her of that?

And he had come with such good news! Finally, everything he had ever wanted for her- for them, for their family- it was possible… well, maybe not everything, but now there was a chance!

So caught up in these thoughts, in his anger and recriminations, he failed to take her in.

“I cannot blame you for your anger. But if you could bide awhile, have a little patience.” He rushed to her, pulling her about by the shoulders… yet he did not notice the way she winced as he gripped them, the sudden rush of fresh tears to her eyes, or even how suddenly pale she became by his mere presence in front of her- all she wanted to was to escape him, be away from him, from everyone- on her own, to think.

“Do you not want her?” He was speaking, she wasn’t listening… all she wanted was solitude, was freedom from him, from this argument… from everyone she had ever known. She had survived so much, lived through so much pain and anger at the hands of her father, only to escape and come to Nampara and do so much… and now… to feel so…

“NO. I don’t know.” And such a look for him to give- he was clearly tormented with not knowing his own mind. Of all the indiginities heaped upon her in the last 24 hours, somehow that was what broke her.

“I’m not content to be second best.” She brushed past him, angry, determined, desperate to be away. He turned, wanting to counter, ready to counter- ready to ask WHY would he be there, at that moment, if that were the case. He had good news- such good news for them, they would be rich- not just solvent, but rich, richer than she had ever dreamed they could be.

_I came her with good news!_ He thought._ I came here to tell you that Blewitt can repay the money I lent him. We can reopen Grace!_

He’d buy her jewels and a new spinet and gowns- as many as she desired! He’d buy a home in London and take her to Paris; he’d shower her with flowers and gifts and anything she’d ever wanted, all she had to do was forgive him his idiocy, just once more! But before he could say the words, before he could pull her to him and tell her what she meant to him… before she had made it a full 10 feet away down the beach, she was crying out, “Judas!” and doubled over in pain.

He ran, such a short distance but it felt like it took forever to get there. He grabbed his wife by the shoulder, about to ask what was wrong when she looked up at him, asking,

“Why are you still here, Ross? Is it because Elizabeth cannot make up her mind?” She tried to straighten, not willing to be robbed of her moment, needing him to see her walk off… and almost succeeded.

But the moment she reached her usual height, her face went pale, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed on the beach- inches out of Ross’s reach- leaving him scramble for him, calling her name in terror- a feeling that did not dissipate once he reached her and pulled her body to him… with the tangy, coppery scent of blood wafting off her body.

“Demelza! Demelza! My Love!” He reached her, cradling her body against his, searching her for an answer- what on earth had just happened? It was unlikely that his wife, the urchin from Illogan, had fainted out of delicacy… He looked at her, just now noticing marks on her pale, delicate skin- her neck had splotches that were beginning to look purple, as did her wrists… and that idiotic black heart she had drawn on her breast was… smeared.

And was that a tear on her bodice? He had bought her this dress only a few years ago, she had worn it a mere 3 or 4 times- in truth, she had always been so happy and precious of the gown, refusing to wear it even to Christmas the year before, not wanting to ruin it. And now she was wading in the tide of the beach, allowing the sea water to ruin the skirt… noticing now that it had stained at least 8 inches of the skirt…. A skirt that looked muddy and ripped and… stained- perhaps from the waves…

He couldn’t think any further on it, she was now moaning, as though in pain, but not awake. He picked her up and hurried her to Darkie, spurring the horse back to Nampara as quickly as any beast could ever possibly move- wondering what had happened to his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is easily the "pulpiest" thing I've ever written- but I'm somehow, not sorry about it.


	3. Slipping Through His Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Man has it all in his hands, and it slips through his fingers from sheer cowardice.” Dostoevsky 

Ross knew that alternating between holding a still-unconscious Demelza’s hand as she remained unconscious, and pacing the floor until it was completely worn and he was likely to fall right through to the kitchen… it served no purpose other than to assuage his guilt (for what he did not yet know, but was certainly imaging). Nor would either action bring Dwight about sooner… but he knew of nothing else he could do that would serve even the remote purpose of keeping his mind occupied- for how could he do anything else? How could he even breathe, knowing that she was in pain? In fact, she had been in such pain that she had almost fallen off his horse twice on the ride back from the beach… and it hadn’t been until he was in view of Nampara that he discovered his hands, and the skirt of her gown, were wet with blood. That realization had made him spur Darkie in a way he probably had not since that wretched, terrible night he had gone to see Elizabeth. 

Why? Why in God’s name had he done that? Why had he ever thought that the call of his first love had such power over him, that he loved her still? He had no wish to see her married to George Warleggan, an impertinent, obsequious and megalomaniacal man as ever lived. His cousin Francis was one thing, Francis, despite his faults, was a good man who had loved Elizabeth truly and well. But in the end, Ross knew he had lucked out beyond words, beyond hope, that day he had rescued Demelza from that dog fight. How could he ever have doubted it-- or worse, made her doubt it? 

And yet… one’s first love… what a heady, unforgettable thing- how Elizabeth had always pulled at him, called to him. For his first year back on Cornish soil, he had been unable to walk the cliffs near Nampara and hear the sound of waves crashing without also hearing the remembered sounds of Elizabeth’s laughter, or seeing the smile on her face. He had such memories, they haunted him, her running away whenever he tried to catch her. He believed he could still remember every joke, every kiss… if he closed his eyes and thought about her, even now, he saw the sun on her face, diffusing against her hair, making her seem an angel on earth. 

But then Demelza had come and, while she didn’t have the innate grace and sophisticated charm of Elizabeth, she was so much more. He did not care about her background, her mean upbringing, her lack of schooling- only that she  _ was  _ sunshine and happiness and much too good for the world, let alone him.

He had known for years how much he loved her- that she had, indeed, redeemed him. When he told her he loved her, the night after the Christmas dinner at Trenwith- the night she sang to a full room, but somehow only to him- he knew his love for her had been coming for quite some time and that he would never stop loving the woman. But it wasn’t until he almost lost her to the fever… the same illness that took their darling Julia away from them that he truly understood how profoundly she had shifted his entire world so that it centered on her. He needed her, so strong and resilient and kind, he needed her love, not until he had come so close to losing her.

She didn’t know it, but in a private drawer of his study- where he kept extra nibs for the pen, bills and other items that were of no interest or concern to Demelza- was a braid of hair- one lock being red, one being strawberry blond… he had snipped the curls of both his daughter and his wife that night- unsure whether either would live through the night. Nor did he tell her that when he went to Truro to deal with financial matters, or experienced particularly bad days at the mine… or heard bad news… his first instinct was to reach for the braid, maybe even take it with him as he tackled a rough task- needing to feel some kind of talisman, a touchstone, to the two ladies of his heart. 

And yet… here he was. In agony… this was absolute torture. What was he to do? 

She had been on the beach in her most fashionable gown, which was most likely destroyed. (And what kind of selfish monster was he to never encourage or even force her to buy a new gown? They weren’t wealthy, not by a longshot- but they had enough that she didn’t have to constantly do without!) 

Her makeup (since when did she paint her face?) was smeared… and he was still struggling to determine how that tiny, dark heart had become a running trail of kohl across her breast. He looked at her again, taking in the bruises and marks that were now turning a ripe shade of purple- a long one across her throat as though she had been held down and choked… her wrists also had dark spots, about the width of a thumb… the conclusions his mind leapt to were vile, furious… and he was intractable in his knowledge of what he MUST do the very second she informed him of the perpetrator and the extent of the… damage. 

He heard Dwight calling for him, taking the stairs two at a time- Prudie must have been terribly upset about Demelza’s condition when she had gone for him, the doctor entered the room looking as upset and wild as Ross himself. He barely acknowledged Ross as he moved immediately to the bedside, feeling her head for fever, silently assessing her injuries as best he could with her still in her gown. 

“Do you know what happened? Did she say anything to you before she fainted?” He was moving to take her pulse, luckily strong and steady, allowing him to breathe a bit deeper. 

“We were on the beach, she had been at the ball at Sir Hugh’s… she was upset, she was… angry. At me. Yelling. And then… she just… she hunched over and cried out in pain, I went to her, and she… she just… she fell.” Ross was trying to remember if there was anything else significant to report- other than the indisputable fact that he was a cad and a bastard and should most likely be flogged in the square for what he had done to her. 

“We must get her out of this dress, can you assist me?” They went to work, undressing her from her beautiful, but now ruined gown. That was when Dwight took in the blood on the skirt. “There’s blood… do you know…?” But he went silent as they removed the gown and he saw her petticoat and chemise, soaked through. 

“What the bloody hell happened to her?” He looked up at Ross, fury raging in his eyes- there were very few scenarios that would have caused this kind of blood loss, and none of them gave him any relief. But one look at his friend, the fearless Captain of His Majesty’s army… he couldn’t speculate, in fact, the best thing he could do for the entire situation was stop the bleeding, diagnose the ailment… and keep his friend from ending up in the gallows for murder of anyone who had even spoken to his wife the night before. Dwight knew that look in his friend’s eyes- a mix of despair, recklessness and violence. What a time to have two patients to see to. 

“I will need hot water, towels, a sponge… and a clean chemise.” He was rolling up his sleeves as he began to assess any other injuries/damage… and Ross was still frozen in place. Sighing, trying to maintain his patience, he walked to Ross, putting both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look away from Demelza. “Ross, I don’t know what’s wrong, because I can’t see yet. Get me water, towels, a sponge and a clean night dress or send someone in here who  _ can  _ help me.” 

Ross nodded and left as quickly as he could- no one else would see Demelza like this. He hadn’t been much of a husband of late, but he would take care of her now. 

He went downstairs and called for Prudie, bless the woman, she was already heating water, while trying to entertain his son- he swore, he would never say another disparaging thing about her after this. 

“Papa, where’s Mama? She did not come into wake me this morning. I want to go to the beach and see the silkies!”

“Mama is not feeling well, lad. Dr. Enys is here to make her feel better.”

“Can I see her? I’ll sing- it will make it all better!” Tears formed in Ross’ eyes, he was unable to beat them back. He leaned over and picked up his son, the sweetest boy who ever lived, a boy exactly like his mother. He held the boy as tight to him as he could, unable to speak, needing to feel the warmth of another body. 

“Papa? What is wrong? Why can’t I see Mama?” Jeremy had pulled away, trying to look in his father’s eyes, this was not a man who cried- he was the bravest, strongest man in the world!

“Not just now, lad. The doctor is with her and wants her to sleep for a while. I’ll take you to her in a bit, alright? In the meantime, why don’t you sit down here with Garrick and keep him company? Perhaps you can practice singing to him?” The boy seemed content with that and took to it with gusto- belting out some Cornish fairy song his mother must have taught him. Ross took the water from Prudie and returned to his bedroom, needing to be next to her. 

He walked in and set the water down by the fire to roll up his sleeves and begin bathing his wife. Dwight had managed to remove the bloody gown and undergarments, giving Ross a full view of her beautiful body… her body that currently had blood smeared down her legs, bruises on her legs, her arms, her torso- varying sizes. Silently they both worked- Ross cleaning the blood and filth off, as Dwight poked and prodded, trying to determine the source of the blood and the extent of the damage. 

Could she have fallen? He thought Sir Hugh had sent his carriage for her, but it was possible she had decided to ride there… could the horse have thrown her? She was an excellent rider, but every once in a while he would wish her to be more cautious- she believed herself invincible and would jump thinks she had no business jumping. As he carefully, so softly, dressed her in her nightgown, he finally looked to Dwight, hoping the man could shed some light on her injuries… praying to a God he was not sure he believed in that they were not due to violence against her. 

Dwight met Ross' eyes, allowing the man to see the anger and the pain that were in them- something he should not have, as the next thing he knew, Ross nodded, taking it in before he shoved past the doctor, calling to Prudie to watch Jeremy while he was out. He didn't stop for his hat or coat, despite it being a windy, chilly day. 

"Ross! Ross, come back here you stupid devil!" Dwight was only steps behind him, but Ross couldn't stop and listen. He had to act, he had to do, he had to fix this and make someone, or everyone, pay. 


	4. A Heavy Heart, Ripped from His Chest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I kept thinking how marvelous it would be if I could somehow tear my heart, which felt so heavy, out of my chest.” Chekov

Ross was seeing red as he stormed out the door and headed to the stables. Someone had touched Demelza- his wife… they had violated her in the most hideous and unforgivable manner and they must pay for it. He was in such a rage he didn’t hear Dwight or Prudie calling his name, he had one single purpose in life at the moment and would not be deterred. 

Until he was spun around and pinned at the throat by his best friend’s forearm. Ross glared at Dwight and began to speak when the doctor increased the pressure on his throat- forcing him to be silent in order to maintain his breath. 

“What do you propose? Riding over to Werry House and calling out every man present to answer for Demelza’s injuries? Need I remind you that Sir Hugh is a Lord and many of his friends are men of considerable influence and means?”

“And what does that matter? You saw her, you saw what someone did to my wife and I am perfectly within my rights to demand justice for her!”

“Do not treat me like an idiot- we both what you are seeking has nothing to do with justice.” 

“And so what if that is true?” His face was red with anger and the struggle to take in air, but at least he was listening… somewhat. He hadn’t yet punched Dwight, which may be a miracle on par with loaves and fishes. 

“Dwight! You can’t possibly expect me to…”

“To what? To sit with your wife until she comes to- something I expect to happen at any moment? To wait and hear your wife tell you what happened and who did this? Why should you ever give her that courtesy- this woman who loves you beyond reason… when most of your friends believe you are probably a lost cause? No… you aren’t fighting for her honor or for justice, you simply don’t know what to do with your anger and you know that she would not want you to behave this way.”

“Someone touched my wife, Dwight. Some man put his hands all over her, violently and evilly and did God only knows what to that angel lying in there- the woman who would never intentionally harm a soul!” He was angry, but tears were coming to his eyes and he did not have the energy to fight them- he hadn’t the energy to do anything, really. As Dwight watched, his friend completely broke down into sobs- visceral, racking sobs. Dwight took his arm from his friend’s throat and pulled the man towards him in an embrace. 

After a time Ross pulled himself together, stopped his sobbing and sat himself on a nearby overturned crate- leaving his friend to stand back, wondering how to proceed. 

Minutes ticked on with nothing said to tell Dwight what had led his stalwart and brave friend to elucidate on the situation. Until the dark haired man looked up at him, questions in his eyes. 

“Do you know… Is it possible to say... “ He audibly gulped, unable to ask the question he needed an answer to. 

“What? Do I know what happened?”

“I know it must… I know that you are not supposed to tell anyone what happened… but she had no opportunity to disclose, this entire thing was-”

Dwight held up his hand, making him stop. 

“No, it isn’t that… that is, she never told me anything, and her being unconscious as I treated her- thus unable to give me permission… it’s more that I can’t really tell you much, not without her filling in the story, it would all be conjecture and speculation- and no matter how much evidence backs it up, I would not feel comfortable without discussing with Demelza, to confirm. And I absolutely will not condemn any man who may have touched her, not without her full account and complaint.”

Ross’ eyes were full of nothing but despair. 

“I did this. I cannot believe it, but I am the reason this happened.”

“Ross, last I knew, you were not even remotely close to the estate of Sir Hugh…”

“No, I did not do _this_\- of course I did not. As though I could ever treat a woman in that fashion. However… I did… I did, distress her. We fought, have been fighting... I behaved particularly badly and she is so angry...”

Dwight, who had dismissed Ross’ comments and self-loathing to this point. 

“What the devil could you possibly mean?”

“Don’t you see? I’m not the husband that woman deserves.” Silence met that statement- it was difficult to refute. Although Dwight was not certain what had happened between the couple in the last month or so, he had certainly known tensions to be high and Ross had been especially moody… speaking of reenlisting in the army to fight in the war… admitting how complicated attachments were- at the time he had thought primarily of him and Caroline, had not dwelled on his friend's marital bliss. 

Furthermore, Dwight had little to no belief that it was likely Demelza that had caused the problem. 

And yet, now was not the time for such conversation or recriminations. 

“Ross, I do not know what has happened between the two of you, certainly I have no idea how Demelza ended up at the ball alone while you were out seeing old business partners and dining with me. You may tell me when and if you wish, and as your friend, I will listen and counsel you. But at this moment, your wife is lying upstairs, unconscious, in great pain- both physically and emotionally, and your son is inside crying for his mama. While I will do everything in my power to make sure that the blackguard that did this to her hangs for his crime, one of the more brutal assaults I have ever treated, we need to go about this is a reasoned and measured approach, once Demelza’s health is assured.”

His words had the desired effect as Ross looked up at his friend, seeing the situation plainly, almost clearly for the first time that day. 

“How much pain is she in?”

“Well, luckily for her, she is currently unconscious- I suspect as much to let her body heal as her mind process the shock of it all. I do not wish to tell…”

  
“Hang that, I must know what was done to her.”

“I can not say precisely. The marks and bruises suggest that while she was held down for some time, she fought- she fought fiercely. In fact, I'd imagine the man responsible is feeling more than a little pain himself today.” Of course his wife had fought, she was certainly not a person to submit against her will, under any circumstance; it was absolutely not in her nature. “But Ross, I won’t lie to you. She was used in a brutal and disgusting manner. I may still find it necessary to suture one or two larger… internal cuts.” That made Ross sick, he heard a whooshing sound and suddenly found himself on the ground, with Dwight advising him to put his head between his legs and try to breathe slowly. Tears in his eyes as he looked at his greatest friend, sadly, like a child. 

“Will she recover?”

“Physically? I see no reason why not. Emotionally, however… how does one ever recover such an indignity? Such a violation of their person? But if she is to find any peace, any sense of safety and equilibrium, she must have our support and patience, and our love to do so. Do you understand?” 

“Of course. And she shall have it, I swear it.” He looked at Dwight, standing above him, holding out his hand to help his friend up. 

“Then come, we should return to the house. I want to see if she is awake yet and I believe your son is likely to want some attention- he seemed rather put out when you stormed past him just now.” The two men began walking back towards the house, towards Demelza, when a shrieking Prudie came running out of the house, carrying a sobbing Jeremy Poldark. 

“Prudie, what is it?” Ross and Dwight both made for her as quickly as they could, Ross pulling his son out of Prudie’s arms as he wailed about Mama. 

“She is bleeding again, sirs, and moaning in great pain. I don’t mean to tell ‘ee your work, but it do seem as though she may be losing a babe, sirs.”

Without thinking, Ross pushed his son back into Prudie’s arms and he and Dwight took off running towards the house, up the stairs and into the room- where Demelza was feverish and barely conscious, moaning in pain, writhing on the bed, and blood was spreading everywhere. 

Dwight was rushing to her, feeling her forehead- hot but not alarmingly so, that was something to be grateful for at the very least. “Ross, we’ll need more water to bathe her, let’s clear away these blankets- get towels and a clean shift.” Ross began moving about, rushing to the water pump, filling two buckets with water and returning to heat them over the fire. He was thankful to have something to do- anything that would occupy his mind away from what Prudie had said- was it possible that she had, indeed, been with child? Had she lost that child because of last night’s incident?

Meanwhile, Dwight was re-examining Demelza, shaking his head as he reached the same conclusion as Prudie. While she had a few lacerations, both vaginal and anal- something he did not know if he would ever be able to tell Ross, and he had wondered if he should suture at least one of them, they could not possibly be the cause of the bleeding- it was much too thick, dark and being eliminated as clumps- sure signs that she was in the process of expelling a fetus from her womb- a devastating event for just about any woman, to have it happen on the heels of everything else, it was much more than Dwight could possibly think about at the moment- afraid he would lose his concentration and break down. There was nothing he could do- not really, her body, for whatever reason, very possibly shock or stress, her body was rejecting the child she had been carrying, and there was nothing to do about it but make sure that there were no greater problems. 

__________________________

It was six hours later that Demelza was stirred; her brow was no longer fevered, the bruises on her neck, arms and face had developed into a deep purple, and Ross had not left her side- had been holding her hand, gently caressing it with his thumb as he whispered to her. Dwight couldn’t find any fault with the man’s actions- but watching the man’s pain made him understand that something had happened- the rift between them was much greater than her originally thought, but he hoped that it could be mended, as the firey woman would need every ounce of strength he could give over the coming months. 

As Demelza stirred, her eyes opened, and focused for the first time since she had fallen at the beach, what felt like days ago to Ross. He leaned in, kissing her hand as she tried to find her bearings, what had happened- why was she in bed in the middle of the day. She remembered being at Sir Hugh’s… then, the beach… yelling at Ross- Ross had come to tell her some kind of good news but she hadn’t let him, she was angry, she was hurt… she was very hurt- her entire torso ached as she breathed in, her face sore… she touched her face… 

_ She could feel his kisses- quick, vapid connections of lips and skin, but without any passion or that certain spark that happened when Ross kissed her. His arm snaked around her, she turned so her back was to him, speaking, but he would not listen as she tried to explain the series of events that had led to her inviting him to her room that evening- but that she did not believe she could betray her husband. She could remember the way the air seemed to change when he determined not to be deterred by her demurring.  _

_ “It does you credit to be so delicate. But think for a moment of me, who’s been looking forward to this encounter.”  _

_ She could hear the sounds of clothing tearing- his hands on her body, his forearm across her neck, keeping her from crying out as he entered her- splitting her open in a manner she could not believe was possible. When she did try to cry out, he took it for sounds of pleasure at first and was spurred on, but when she bit him he had unleashed his anger on her, kicking her side, flipping her onto her front and continuing to use her in the most painful manner she could imagine.  _

“My angel…” She sat bolt upright, in a sweat, staring at Ross with terror in her eyes. 

“What did you call me?” 

“I don’t understand- Demelza, my angel, my love…” and with that she leaned over the side of the bed and retched, unable to keep the bile in her throat down- crying to hear those words spoken again, by Ross… Ross, the man she had loved more than anything, save Jeremy and her brothers… who had sent her out to that ball alone, had made her feel that he had ceased loving her, and that she may take her pleasure elsewhere, as he had. Ross who had set the entire evening’s events in motion. All she could do as Ross was speaking, asking her if she was alright, was lay down again, curled away from him, unable to speak to him, unable to look at him, as she wept. 


	5. Demelza Awake

“Demelza, how are you feeling?” The soft, resounding, soothing voice of Dr. Enys, one of her closest friends was approaching her side of the bed. She knew that Ross was still at the foot of the bed- her rejection of him when she had awakened had been clear and complete. But Dwight was a comforting presence, as he felt her forehead for fever and checked her pulse. 

“How long was I out?” Her voice was eerily calm- her tears had subsided, she no longer felt sick… in fact, suddenly, she no longer felt much of anything. She lay on her back, flat, staring at the ceiling- refusing to look at anyone. 

“You were unconscious, at least mostly, for about seven hours.” A heavy silence fell on the room, she had no desire to speak with anyone- what was shet to say? What would recriminations and anger and hurt do? Would they serve any purpose? Would they be at all healing? Of course not- in fact, she didn’t believe she would ever feel love or comfort again. 

“The babe?” She asked timidly, almost sure she knew the answer. Ross’ head jerked up immediately. 

“You  _ knew _ ?” He asked, hurt in his voice. Dwight cast a warning look at the man as Demelza laughed- a bitter, nasty chuckle, something completely incongruous with her person.

“I had just started to suspicion. Twasn’t long, maybe six or seven weeks. At least now you need not worry about another obstacle in your way.” And with that she turned her back to Ross, curled inward into herself. The signal was clear, for all that Dwight wasn’t married to her, he knew enough to know that she wished to be left alone.

“Demelza, I do not wish to distress you overmuch, but I do have questions… as your physician, there are certain things I must know.” She tensed, as involuntary and fierce as a seizure. “But for now, I believe that rest will do you the most good. We will leave you to it. Call out should you need a thing- we will just be downstairs.” She made no movement of acknowledgement. He looked to Ross, seeing his friend warring with his feelings in his eyes. Silently he let Ross know that he was leaving the room, and he should be very, very careful in whatever he wished to say- no one was to further upset the woman.

Dwight hovered just outside the door- not wanting to eavesdrop, but to ensure Ross behaved himself. 

Ross sat where he was, angling himself towards Demelza. 

“Are you sure there is nothing more we can do for you- anything you need? Perhaps some tea? Or port or brandy?” She remained silent and completely still- not moving an inch. “Jeremy has been calling for you- he’d like to see you and give you a kiss.” Even that did not move her to respond. “Demelza- I… you must know that I…” but he stopped himself, for he had no excuse, nothing that would improve anything and would quite possibly only damage their relationship even further. He fought the urge to reach out to her, to wrap her in the safety of his embrace, to promise that nothing would ever harm her again, to vow his undying love and support and faithfulness… although, hadn’t he done that once already, at the altar in Sawle? What an ass he was. But he could promise her that while there was breath in his body, no one would ever harm her again. He could vow on his life to avenge her honor, her pain… and yet… 

She neither needed, nor wanted anything from him. He stood and went to exit the room, pausing at the door, unable to look back, but needing to say something. 

“I am sure it does no good at this moment, that it is a very poor thing- tarnished as it is, but I do love you. And I will find some way, I know not how, to make all right between us.” And with that he left the room, leaving her in her bed, tears pouring down her cheeks as she wept, silently, for all that had been lost between them, for everything that had happened because of it, for her baby, lost to her… but mostly, for herself, for all her pain and her anger and her loss of sense, of self, of safety in her own person.

Below, in the kitchen, Jeremy was fussy, wanting his Mama, and Ross had nothing helpful to say- how to make a small child understand the situation? However, Ross looked down at his son- his and Demelza’s child- and he could see her in him. His coloring was more like his own, more like the Nampara Poldarks, it’s true. But his eyes sparkled, his smile lit up his entire face and he had a goodness in him, an innate ability to see the good in all, in everything- to love everything. He was only 2 ½ years old and was already rescuing any animal who needed it- it was nothing for Ross to come home and find mice, birds, squirrels, cats and even once, to everyone’s great dismay, a skunk. Luckily for all, that creature had been hidden outside of the barn, so the smell had only lingered on the boy- NOT in the house. 

Ross picked up his son, kissing his head and holding the lad to him as tightly as possible, breathing in the scent of his innocence. 

“Papa, can I see Mama?” Ross looked at his son- such a beautiful combination of him and Demelza- but so much lighter, happier and more pure of heart than Ross had ever been. 

“I am so sorry my lad, but Mama is still not well and needs to rest. I know you want to see her and take care of her, but if we want her to get well, we need to be very good and quiet for her.”

“Will she be alright?” The boy had little experience with grief or loss, but loved his mother fiercely. 

“Your Mama is hurt, but will rest and we will make sure she is better, you and me and Dr. Enys.”

“And Garrick?”

“Especially Garrick. Now, why don’t you go and wash up for supper- then you can play with your soldiers, yes?” The boy’s face lit up and he ran to accomplish his task- his soldiers were in the library and permission to play with them before supper was quite rare, as Demelza usually had him performing small chores or was teaching him his letters, or stories and songs this time of day. 

Ross moved to the sideboard, planning to pull out the brandy- but reaching instead for the bottle of truly excellent cognac he had received as a gift of gratitude from Caroline, only a week earlier, for his help in assisting her and Dwight. A thought struck him as he poured for them both- knowing neither of them were likely to sleep much that night… Dwight was used to the light sleep of a country doctor, and Ross had still to get a decent night’s sleep since being exiled to the library… 

“I’d allow you the use of our cot tonight- but I’m afraid I will need it myself.” Dwight expressed no surprise. 

“Demelza has been through quite a lot, it isn’t surprising--”

“No, not because of last night… It has been almost a month now that I have been down here. Jeremy is confused, he doesn’t understand why I sleep on a small cot and his Mama sleeps upstairs. Nor the cold looks she sends my way when we are in the same room. Not that I can truly blame her.” He was pacing the room, staring at the elements his wife had brought about in- the wildflowers, always the best and brightest, that had been placed in every possible vessel. And of course the spinet had been moved, so she could learn to play it, singing along as she did… that space had been filled with a chair from the parlor area- a place she occasionally chose to sit in and read while he sat at his desk, writing letters, doing the books… asking her advice on this issue or that- she was the daughter of a miner and had an exceptional mind. 

But now the room was a sparse reminder of what he had done, and it made him feel so low. He had two, thin blankets he slept under, but the bed was just next to the fire, so he was never warm without burning, but never cold without freezing- it was a nightmare, yes- but no more than he deserved. He looked at Dwight, who sat across from him in the room, patiently waiting for Ross to tell him what on earth had happened between them. 

“You, of all people are aware of the difficulties my cousin-in-law has suffered since Francis’ death- troubles with money, with Geoffry Charles, with her own mother’s health. And, of course, you are aware that Elizabeth has agreed to marry George Warleggan, most likely to alleviate some of these burdens.”

Dwight had spent much of his time lately at Trenwith- treating Mrs. Chynoweth, helping Elizaebth in her emotional distress, distress that caused her to faint and worry… unless…

“Ross… you did not… please, assure me, as a gentleman, that you never…” But the words turned to bile as they came from his mouth- of course his friend had… of course the history between Ross and Elizabeth had ultimately proved to be too much- why had he not seen it before? 

“It was only the one night- a night of madness. I had only just learned that she had accepted the man- how could I possibly walk this earth while Elizabeth married that man?”

“Because you have no right to have any feelings of the kind- you are a married man!”

“And had it been any other man on this earth, I would never have-”

“But it was George, it  _ is  _ George- and so somehow that excuses what you did?”

“It wasn’t as though I had a choice, Dwight! I was quite overcome and out of my mind!”

“But you are married! You made a vow to love, honor and cherish her, forsaking all others!”

“It was Elizabeth, Dwight. And George! You know that I could not simply allow-”

“She was never yours to allow or forbid anything, Ross! But Demelza… that rarest of women… To do such a thing to your wife! That woman- she is beauty and grace and kindness… and apparently, she is far too good for you. How do you not see it- how is that possible? You are still more attracted to the manners and grace of a first love- before you became a man, fighting for your life in the battlefield- before you nearly lost your life… before you lost your father, a man of principles, for all he was the legendary Lothario of Nampara.

“There are men- Ross… men who would slaughter armies to protect the life you have thrown away. The love that you and Demelza had- the family that was you, her and young Julia… now Jeremy… You made me want that! I began to crave that with all my heart and soul, it is what led me and Caroline to this point.” He stopped his yelling and took a deep breath, trying to reclaim his calm. 

“I hope I am wrong, that my heart would have seen the necessity and logic and reason long ago. But I fear that without the example of your love- without the desire to be a family as the three of you have been… I do not know if I would have returned to Caroline, would have agreed to the mad schemes we have set forth, eloping behind her uncle’s back…. But we saw you and yearned to be you… It made me a better man, watching the two of you together.

“And now you betrayed her. Not only her, but your son- you threw them away. For an inconstant woman who would prefer the comfort of George Warleggan’s accounts than the love of a good man.” Ross looked up, tears shining in his eyes- his bottle of cognac much lighter than it had been earlier in the evening… his cheeks red, his hair a mess… and Dwight looking back, feeling as though he was on very shaky ground. 

“Does love not exist? Is there no chance for the rest of us?” Now tears flowed from his eyes, down his cheeks- perhaps everything he and Caroline had done- had hoped and prayed and schemed for, was a lie. 

“I cannot explain it adequately. Not to you… dammit, I cannot explain it even to myself… certainly not to her. And I wish I could, Dwight- how I wish I could. I felt… possessed. Not that I’m attempting to escape the consequences… not exactly… but have you never felt the need of someone so strong you had no control over yourself? Have you never lost yourself entirely- seeing yourself, but being outside of your body- unable to account for your actions with any kind of reason or logic? It was like the first time I was with a woman- I knew what I was doing was wrong, was dangerous, could change my life in all sorts of ways- but I was absolutely incapable of stopping myself and damn the consequences! Can you not understand what happened that night? It was neither planned, nor welcome…It wasn’t even particularly satisfying, I regretted it even as I was doing it- but I just couldn’t make myself stop. All I did was hurt everyone I loved… and that was before last night- before I allowed her to go, like a lamb to the slaughter. For what reason? To what purpose is reopening the mine, having money in my coffers again, if Demelza hates me. And she does- I know she does. I do not believe she will ever forgive me and I will have lost her forever- and due to such a poor choice! 

“To think… I actually believed that being repaid that debt, reopening Leisure, I could win her forgiveness and love. I am a fool. 

“And I sent her into the arms of another man.”

Dwight’s head snapped up at that- he had been lulled into quiet as Ross had exclaimed his own villainy- most of which Dwight refused to argue against. He was determined to take this lesson to heart and remember for his own marriage; as harsh as it might seem, he could hardly look to Ross as a great example of how to achieve marital bliss. 

It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to all-consuming desire. He certainly had been caught in the trap of lust before, and much good it had done him. He had even allowed a married woman to seduce him- and she had paid for it with her life. He had always believed that as he was not the one who had vowed before God to be faithful, he was not the villain in the story- but course that was nonsense and he was as responsible as she. 

But the idea of his best friend being unfaithful to the amazing woman upstairs... No, she wasn’t a lady from birth, of noble blood and natural grace like the current mistress of Trenwith. And maybe Ross’ affection for his cousin no longer mattered at this point- but for Ross to take a woman other than Demelza to his bed… an event which Dwight had to assume Demelza herself knew had happened… and now Elizabeth had postponed her wedding to George Warleggan? 

This was all madness, and he could not see a solution. The damage was done and there was no taking it back. 

Lost in his thoughts, Dwight almost didn’t hear Ross’ question. 

“Did she lose the child because of… her attack?”

“I can’t say with any certainty. She was right, it was very early days. Not that I suppose that’s much comfort.” As someone who was very anxious to be a father, he felt keenly their loss, as Demelza had once confided in him she had hopes of a large family and all they had filling the halls of Nampara, at the moment, was Jeremy. 

“It’s possible the fetus was simply not viable and she would have lost it no matter.”

“You said she was bruised. Held down. What else can you tell me?”

“Ross, I don’t see any value to this line of thought. Perhaps it would be best if we wait for Demelza to tell us…”

“I must know, Dwight. I’m not certain she would tell me a thing.”

“Ross, you and I both know that I have a duty to keep--” they were interrupted by a sharply pitched shriek upstairs. They looked at each other before rising and running to her aid. They stopped at the doorway, Ross’s collar open, his sleeves rolled to his elbow and his eyes wild, ready to take on an army with his bare fists to protect the mistress of the house. 

“No, stop it, sir! Please I beg you!” She was crying and shouting as she thrashed about in her sleep on the bed, fighting against an attacker that was not there. She clawed at the imaginary animal, whimpering as though she could not speak. Ross wanted to go to her and wake her, but Dwight held him back. 

“It’s not always best to wake someone from a nightmare- it may be too jarring, too disorienting… let us give her a minute to settle, if she does not, I will wake her."

“I’m that sorry, I didn’t mean it, sir.” She was crying again and she buckled in half at the waist, raising her head and torso up briefly before falling back down, as though she was pulled and thrown back to the bed- silent again, except for her whimpers. Ross looked to Dwight, begging with him eyes… the doctor was not indifferent and moved quickly to the woman’s side. He began to call her name, in a low and soft tone. 

He leaned over her, touching her shoulder, barely shaking her so that she would wake up- which she did, sitting up in a shot. Her hair was wild around her, her face was stained with tears and a purple mark at the corner of her eye was becoming more developed- she looked lost and startled and… so very vulnerable and desperate, it broke Dwight’s heart to see this woman brought to this. 

“You were having a nightmare. You are home, at Nampara and you are safe.” His steady gaze met her eyes, he watched as she processed what he had said… she was safe, home, Dwight was there-- and Ross, and despite her anger and her hurt, she did understand that Ross wouldn’t ever allow a man to touch her, wouldn’t ever allow her to be physically harmed by another… she was “safe” with him, in that way. “Demelza, breathe in with me, can you do that?” He was breathing in to the count of 3 and exhaling for 5. Her heart began to slow, the tears began to dry on her cheeks and she began to feel a return to herself. 

“Excellent.” The doctor was checking her pulse, counting along with the steady, relatively strong beat. 

“Now, can I get you something? Perhaps something to drink? Water or tea? Are you hungry? I believe there is some soup downstairs, or perhaps some bread and cheese? You have not eaten in quite some time, I think.” 

“No, thank you, I haven’t an update. Nor thirst.” 

“Demelza, I really would consider it a special favor for you to try and eat something- perhaps just a bit of toast with jam? And tea?” She was so pale and yet her veins were difficult to see at the moment, indicating she was dehydrated at the very least. She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no so Dwight stood and left the room to ask Prudie to bring something for her mistress. 

Ross was left standing by the door, feeling useless and anxious to do something. He timidly moved into the room, desperate to sit next to her, just to hold her hand. 

“Is there nothing I can do for you? Bring you a shawl, or a book perhaps?”

Demelza gave that low, bitter chuckle that was a recent addition to her repertoire. 

“Unless you can go back in time and convince me not to go to the ball, then there is nothing to be done.”

“Won’t you--” He broke off, unsure how to say what he wanted to. He was trying again to get the words out when Dwight returned, a tray with toast and tea on it. Ross was pushed back towards the wall to make room for the doctor. 

“Now, here we go, just a bit of nourishment to get you started. If you would please humor me by at least drinking the tea, I would be very grateful.” She looked at the tray, as though it contained poison or slime or something truly awful. 

“I just don’t think I can.. Yet.”

“Please, Demelza, if Dwight says you need it, couldn’t you please give it a try?” She looked sideways at it again, “What would you say if it was Jeremy who wouldn’t take his medicine?” That made her almost smile, any other day he was sure it would have. She sighed and reached for the tea, taking a few sips, hesitantly, but finding that it was soothing to drink something, her throat had been a bit dry. 

“Ah, thank you. Now, can you please tell me how you’re feeling? Do you have any more pain? How is your stomach?” He asked kindly- everything Dwight did was kind, really. Demelza put her hand to stomach, feeling the emptiness inside, somehow. She knew that the babe was barely a thought at this point, had truly only begun to suspect a week ago, but had let everything else take up her mind. And all because of what that man… that vile, disgusting, filthy man who had… who had hurt her. Had hit her, had kicked her, had killed her baby. 

“No. No more pain in my stomach.”

“And elsewhere?” 

“What do you think?” Again, rudeness, bitterness was not usual for her, but it was difficult to judge her for it. 

“Aside from the bruises, we’ll pretend those are ‘normal’, for now.” That made Ross sick to his stomach, his wife should never have bruises, should never have to wonder if any marks on her body were or were not “usual” or “normal”- she shouldn’t be facing these questions. Dwight continued, “Does your head ache? Are you nauseous?” There was no good or polite way to ask if her soul ached, despite the fact that it must be in tatters at the moment. 

“No, I am as well as I could be. How is Jeremy? I cannot imagine he enjoyed a day without me.” She tried to smile- even now, she was trying to be brave for their son… how could he not have even one tenth of her goodness?

“He did not, but with some extra sweets, time with his soldiers and a ride with me on Hippocrates, he was… just about manageable.” To Prudie, to Dwight he had been fine- but the boy had been a monster towards his own Papa today- almost as if he knew where the blame in his mother’s pain lay.

“And Garrick?” 

“Essentially the same, minus the ride on my horse.”

“Tis a pity, that would have been a sight.”

“He is a devoted pup, that Garrick.” Oh, if only Garrick had been with her the previous evening- nothing would have ever troubled his mistress with such a guard. 

“Demelza… about your attack-” Dwight had a duty, as her physician, to explain her options, and what was at stake.   


“No, please, I’m not… I don’t want to think about it.” Ross moved over, just behind Dwight, trying to sound soft and reassuring, desperate to take her hand and comfort her, if only he though there was a way. 

“Demelza, you must see that we have little time.”

She looked up at him, the man she had once thought would walk through hellfire itself for her. 

“For what, exactly?”

“To call in a magistrate, to make your statement, to name your assailant and to prosecute that man.” He wasn’t doing a very good job controlling his temper, his eyes practically glowed behind the iris, burning for justice- to make this right… To know where to lay the blame of his wife’s debasement. 

“I’ll save you the trouble of any of it- I do not know who did it, I did not see anything and I’m far too tired to discuss it. Please leave, I believe I’ll sleep. Good night.” 

“Are you certain? There are things you may not realize you know…”

“I am certain, Ross. Now leave it be- I do not wish to relive it, any of it, and I’ll thank you to stay out of it and let me sleep.”


End file.
